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^ 



THE WORLD-HOAX 

and 
THE DISILLUSIONED GENIUS 

POEMS 
By C. A. PAUL DACHSEL 

Sent postpaid on receipt of price. Fifty 
Cents, by the publisher, PAUL DACHSEL, 
70 East 20th Street North, Portland, Ore. 



THE WORLD -HOAX 



AND 



POEMS 

BY 

C.A. PAUL DACHSEL 



C A. PAUL DACHSEL 

PORTLAND. OREGON 
1917 






(Copyright, 1917. by C. A. PAUL DACHSEL.) 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 




Printed by the 

German Publishing Company 

Portland, Ore. 

FEB -s ion 

"'^©CI,.A455485 



THE WORLD -HOAX 

OR 

3IU«0ttm 



"'Fo?' each, ivho knows not how to rule 
His inner self^ is only pleased too passing well 
To sivay Ms neighbor's will, to suit his own proud mood.'"' 

GOETHE, "Faust," Second Part. 

^^How, thsnf will tJwy weigh tragedy hy hutcher's weight?'^'' 
ARISTOPHANES, "The Frogs," v. 797. 



PREFACE 

I have incorporated into "The World-Hoax" a 
few paraphrases of certain striking paragraphs in 
the works of Arthur Schopenhauer and of Eduard 
Von Hartmann. In a prose composition I could have 
duly quoted the authors named; but in a work poet- 
ical in form this course is out of the question; so that 
the requirements of justice must be fulfilled by giv- 
ing due credit in the preface to those authors whose 
words have been occasionally almost literally tran- 
scribed. 



In an optimistically tinged outburst Schopen- 
hauer (Principle of Sufficient Reason, Chapter V, 
Paragraph 34), after remarking that a long since 
prophesied epoch had dawned, that the church was 
oscillating so violently that it was doubtful whether 
it would regain its equilibrium, and that a shallow 
materialism was casting ridicule upon the profound 
mysteries of Christanity, ventures the following pre- 
diction: ''There is a boiling-point on the scale of cul- 
ture, where all belief, all revelation, all authorities 
evanesce, man craves for insight and is willing to 
be taught, but also convinced. He has dropped the 
leading-strings of childhood and insists upon stand- 
ing on his own legs. His metaphysical want, however, 
is as indestructible as any physical want. Then the 
desire for philosophy becomes serious, and needy 
mankind appeals to all thinking minds it has ever 
given birth to." 

Hartmann also poses as a prophet when he says : 
' ' The lower animals and plants, since the commence- 
ment of organic life, have been more and more dis- 
placed by higher ones — the higher animals by man — , 
and humanity will in time attain, on the average, a 
pitch of intelligence and cosmic intuition which at 
present only a cultured few have reached." Hart- 
mann 's confidence in the rapid advancement of hu- 
manity does not appear to be very strong, for he 



says: "Providence takes care that the anticipations 
of the silent thinker do not disarrange the course of 
history by prematurely gaining too many adher- 
ents." I believe he was led to the above conclusion 
by contemplating men's tendency to mistake means 
for ends, as appears from his remark: ''Still more 
pernicious, however, does the acquisitive instinct be- 
come, if it forgets that property is only an intrinsic- 
ally worthless means to further ends, and regarding 
it as end in itself, turns into covetousness and 



avarice." 



Benjamin De Casseres in a masterly essay on 
Emile Tardieu's book "L 'Ennui (in "The Interna- 
tional, ' ' New York, October, 1913) characterizes life 
in general in a very emphatic manner as follows: 
"The reign of the Same is the Vision Malefic. Every 
absurdity, any insanity, any inanity, — but not En- 
nui! Men will die at the poles of the world and 

thinkers will go stark mad at the poles of meta- 
physical speculation rather than face Ennui. ' ' 

The above quotations will serve to partially il- 
lustrate the viewpoint from which "The World- 
Hoax" was written. 

C. A. PAUL DACHSEL. 

PORTLAND, ORE., JANUARY, 1917. 



THE WORLD -HOAX 

OR 

3U«ai0n 



PROLOGUE 

In spring, when daily higher mounting sun 
Extends the day and makes the glaciers run, 
The naked trees renew their robe of green. 
And splendor stalks the fir-clad hills between ; 
The velvet breeze and golden, flatt'ring rays 5 

Inspire lovers and their crooning lays; 
From shroud of snow and fog in ev'ry land 
The heart of nature hastens to expand 
To joy triumphant in the favored child 

With thrills of rapture scanning rythm wild. 10 

This palingenesis the mind includes; 
For, when from maple-trees the sap exudes, 
A crop of gaudy dreams adorns the brain 
And pants for exit with its gorgeous train. 
Some minds are like volcanic, tropic isle, 15 

Upon whose dells unfading sunbeams smile. 
From upper terraces of cratered peak 
To beach, where breakers waving date-palms seek. 
Such restless, seething souls no spring await 

7 



To intonate a song or start debate; 20 

And like the evergreen no seasons know, 

But seize on all that distant breezes blow 

Within the sphere their soaring soul describes 

For feast of reason or for butt of gibes. 

As nature's Sunday-child is marked by fate 25 

To hold a mirror to surrounding state, 

His thirst ne'er slackens for that highest glee : 

From worry's labyrinth his heart to free 

And gaze about with Jove's Olympic frown 

On man's convulsions e'en on bed of down, 30 

On paradoxical and futile quest 

To ever seck^ and yet to seek for rest. 

Although he knows too well that all is vain, 

Yet this can not his eloquence restrain ; 

For that same force which paints the lilies' bloom 35 

And has ordained the starry heaven's doom, 

Directs his pen to give to light of day 

His thoughts and feelings and their idle play. 



When Aristophanes, with noble rage. 

Puts Socrates among the clouds in cage 40 

To feed on air and contemplate the sun 

And in trepanning sophists find his fun ; 

Or, when the master-jester places bards 

In bog of Styx to wait for their awards : 

It is a symptom of profound despair, 45 

That life is futile as the empty air. 

That poetry with painted shadows plays, 

And boasting bombast bloats heroic lays. 



The keen Athenian this sorrow felt 

And eased his spleen with bricks of wit to pelt 50 

The proud pretenders and their stalking-horse 
In caustic dialogue, a little coarse. 
The Attic Wasp sank fearlessly his sting 
Deep into frothy shell of ev'rything. 

That flaming countersign of daring souls — , 55 

The love of truth — , each honest pen controls. 
As soon as author trims his words for pay, 
He turns to ass content with bale of hay. 
The polished magazines of modern times 
Oft condescend to publish harmless rhymes, 60 

Provided they contain no deeper view 
Than vapid commonplace too tritely true. 
To throw a sop to comic vein in man — , 
Disgust with life's all too prosaic plan — , 
A red-ink supplement of moss-grown jokes 65 

The children tickles with its master strokes. 
Some critics say the public has no taste. 
This accusation I deny in haste. 
Though men of genius rise above the mass, 

Its judgment doth the final verdict pass. 70 

The overwhelming bulk of magazines 
Feeds cellar-furnace, but the public weans 
From joy and profit in their idle time 
With stilted fiction and denatured rhyme. 
As soon as men perceive that deeper thought 75 

Not in a journal's columns must be sought. 
They quickly will improve their critic taste 
Ignoring editor and pot and paste, 

9 



And their own judgment with the pleasure tax 

To view thought's beauties undefiled by hacks. 80 



A single drop extracted from the sea 
Must almost nothing to our senses be; 
Yet hidden powers latent in a drop 
Which on a sultry day from brow we mop 
Make sport of dreadnoughts when the ocean roars 85 

And scourges battered craft to wrecking shores. 
A hermit may world-shaking thought evolve. 
Which dies in silence, if not stern resolve 
To fling it broadcast 'mong the busy throng 
Subject to test of strength his creed or song. 90 

Mankind is like the quickly changing deep 
Responsive to the winds which o'er it sweep : 
Man's ocean is his will ; his thought the wind 
That doth the billows from their cage unbind. 
Each sputters forth, in hope of wealth or fame, 95 

Or from his conscience to achieve acclaim. 
What suits his fancy and portrays his will 
For chosen hobbies to exert his skill. 
Colliding blasts of thought confound mankind 
And mar the blooming fields and crack earth's rind : 100 

Such havoc ruinous wreak gusts of thought, 
When to a focus is their action brought. 
So, too, when politics stir civic life, 
A chorus fans the never-ceasing strife 

Between the prancing of ambitious men 105 

To win applause for more than common ken, 

10 



To sway their fellows as the wind the grass, 
And ride the current with the tides that pass. 



No seer has yet divined the goal of man. 

Though plodding scholars hoarded wisdom scan, 110 

Still clouds of doubt obscure each vista fair, 

And fixed opinions form a thorny lair 

For those who love to soar with eagle's wing 

And be the first to view what cheer may bring 

The rising sun with rosy halo girt, 115 

And rouse the laggards to a quickened spurt. 

"The World-Hoax" is devoted to the aim 

To cast some light upon the fitful game 

Which man, an actor and spectator, too. 

For ne'er a moment can dismiss from view. 120 

Some may applaud and some may blame the scribe 

For what they hold as truth or flippant gibe. 

But be that as it may; he'll have his say; 

And trusts the reader will enjoy this lay. 



11 



CHARACTERS. 

Emerson Shop, a dabbler in philosophy. 
Claude Cord, an amateur poet. 
Mike, a brewer forced into retirement by prohibition. 
Scene: Shop's study in one of the larger cities of the Pa- 
cific Slope. 
Time: Thanksgiving Day, 1916. 



Shop 
(Soliloquizing in his study.) 

Wlien as a playful tot on parlor floor 125 

I rolled my marbles from the stove to door. 
My thought was centered on the fleeting hour, 
And life unfolded like a dreaming flower. 
Wlien bloom of manhood made its presence felt. 
And love's first yearning joy transcendent dealt, 130 

The future rose with golden gate ajar, 
And bliss ecstatic beckoned from afar. 
When manhood's prime had thinned illusion's veils 
And to ensnare life's prizes trimmed its sails, 
I found all paths beset with thorns and foes, 135 

And my own heart a hydra gorged with woes. 
When finally an humble place I won, 
And little of my task remains undone. 
The past, the present, and the future, too, 
Blend into landscape of a changeful hue, 140 

On which I meditate in idle hour 
As on the rapid bloom of tropic flower, 

12 



A gorgeous dot in wilderness of green, 
A passing landmark in a shifting scene. 

If consciousness be added to the bloom 145 

Of gaudy flower in this living tomb, 
And many tasks and quirks of joy and pain. 
And thought distracting that all ends are vain; — 
T feel that fate of man and bud's the same : 
A spark emitted by eternal flame. — 150 

The waving outlines of the eastern hills 
Emerge from darkness when the morning's chills 
Still find me snug in comfortable bed 
And yawning at diurnal task ahead. 

With deep disgust I quit my sleep profound 155 

To find myself again on solid ground. 
The daily morning paper then I scan 
To learn the latest, great exploits of man. 
This craving satisfied, I break my fast 
And slowly masticate a light repast; 160 

And thei^eupon I light a corncob pipe 
And wait in patience till some thought grow ripe. 
On many days no pen my fingers grip. 
And in a dreamlike peace the minutes slip. 
Though blazing visions of a checkei^d past, — 165 

The glut of plenty and unwelcome fast — , 
Like tropic rivers inundate the brain, 
My private fortunes call my pen in vain. 
It is my settled maxim to forget 

The fond illusions which our childhood pet; 170 

To seek for happiness in thought serene; 
With equal mind survey the shifting scene. 
Behold the Furies' rage, the Graces' charm, 

13 



And greet the grasp of Death's extended arm. 
With such a temper can it strange appear 175 

That meditation is my greatest cheer? 
Yet, 'tis not resignation I exact: 
There is a time to think, a time to act. 
Each one must learn through life itself his task 
Ere with content he can in sunshine bask. 180 

Man must be active; quiet is a hell 
Whose fright no language perfectly can tell. 
While hands the shovel wield or heavy flail. 
No melancholy sighs the heart assail ; 

Or while the brain is mapping out a scheme 185 

To fill the purse or realize a dream. 
Or keeps the fancy toiling to create 
Strange characters or destinies of state. 
While once in parlor I was sitting still, 

November's dreary landscape cast a chill 190 

Upon my heart and mind and idle hand. 
Until like straggler sinking in the sand 
Tall waves of deep disgust were whelming me, 
And dead appeared all hope of jollity. 

The utter uselessness of ev'ry pang 195 

With shout triumphant loud its paean sang. 
The air was chilly as a grave-yard shade. 
And most unpleasant noise the clock's tick made. 
The bookshelf stai'ed at me with dusty frown 
And screeched revolting voidness of renown. 200 

My body felt like automatic toy 
Whose mainspring rotted with a strange alloy. 
The joy in life was gone. As though from rack 
Just freed, the nerves were lazy, dull and slack. 

14 



The jaded brain refused to start to think 205 

And shuddered at the sight of harmless ink. 

A painful emptiness embraced my soul 

As though a fainting-spell had full control 

And paralized the once so potent will 

With thrills of languor and with doubts that kill. 210 

The heart was trembling in its citadel 

Before the onward rushing of a hell, 

As if expecting to be cast aside 

Like some dishonored and rejected bride. 

The inner gloom made outer world seem dark 215 

Until dispelled by that undying spark 

Which flared up fiercely when the sudden thought 

This mood to picture by the mind was caught. 

The thinking and resolve were single flash, 

And this new pastime gloom away did dash. 220 

If leisure forces us the time to kill, 

"Why not employ the ever ready quill 

To paint the dragon of profound despair 

And make him yield the ghost at touch of air? 

Enter Mike and Claude Cord. 

Shop 
'Tis long since we have met. How I exult 225 

To greet the star of optimistic cult; 
Mike, too, the quondam cook of cheering foam, 
But now an exile in his ancient home! 

Cord 
Satiric rogue! your spleen still reeks with gall. 
And former happiness your words recall. 230 

15 



Mike 

The time is out of joint. All goes to smash, 

And soaring prices eat my ready cash. 

My blood ferments whene'er I stop to think 

How my possessions vanished in a wink 

On fatal day, when bigots' phalanx swore 235 

That jolly Bacchus should be shown the door. 

As man of sense, I know 'tis waste of air 

To cry for justice and invoke despair, 

I seek myself with maxims to console 

For quick destruction of the pompous role 240 

Which once I played while fickle fortune smiled 

And merry banquets cloudy days beguiled. 

But evermore my heart reverts to grief. 

And in consoling thought I've lost belief. 

Cord 
My gloomy friend! do not abandon hope! 245 

Let coward hearts corrode and wail and mope! 
Behold the poet, happy with a song! 
Why wreck your happiness for fancied wrong? 
Unveil your plaint to philosophic Shop. 
Although he can not offer us a drop 250 

Of juice which Christ at Cana made to flow 
And which inspired Plato's lofty glow; 
He may, if in the mood, such thought expound 
As may prove balm upon the open wound 
Which doubly smarts when we recall the days 255 

We sang in chorus merry roundelays. 
Though Shop with acid may his phrases mar, 
With paradox your fixed opinions jar; 

16 



Yet by and by his drift you'll comprehend, 

If to his stories you attention lend. 260 

Mike 

Since I'm at leisure all the livelong day, 
I will rejoice to hear what Shop will say. 

Shop 
Friend Cord! no one is dearer to my heart 
Than you, whose smile surpasses work of art; 
But deep in error is your mind entrapped, 265 

If you believe that woe my soul has sapped. 
In rosy youth, indeed, I oft did groan 
At echo of the world's untiring moan, 
Wlien melancholy stained my dreamy thought, 
And passions with my prospects havoc wrought. 270 

As ocean wave rolls wrinkles in the sand. 
So feelings on the mind broad furrows brand. 
But I've grown callous, and like you I smile 
Upon illusions which the world beguile. 

I scatter fancy's buds o'er barren field, 275 

Determined not to foolish wail to yield. 
I strive to make each day a work of art. 
To dull the sting of mocking, passing smart 
Which ev'ry change imprints upon the soul. 
And, unconcerned, behold the cloudlets roll 280 

Above my cottage in this peopled waste, 
And watch the gathering storm, the growing haste 
With which the human race to ruin leaps 
And pyramids of skulls like hayricks heaps. 

17 



Coed 
O let the stricken hosts in peace repose! 285 

Above their dust will bloom a redder rose. 
Thus sang great Omar in his sweetest strain, 
Convinced of adage that all things are vain. 
Unstable equilibrium doth best 

Define the nature of our state unblest. 290 

As two thin gases join to form the air, 
And other gases Neptune's realm prepare: 
So consciousness and feeling join in soul, 
That restless thing with thirst for world-control. 
Of world-creation no pet view I hold; 295 

But daily life this truth doth well unfold: 
The joy in intellect as such is clean 
As light refulgent of nocturnal queen. 
The fount of feeling clasps a world of woe : 
It is the drudge that makes the life-wheel go. 300 

Display of feeling is construed bad taste; 
But to extol the brain, what morbid haste ! 
The intellect is like a parasite 
Whose only function that of shedding light, 
While other members of the body toil 305 

That lantern to supply with fuel-oil. 
Like true aristocrat, the intellect 
Commands unwavering and deep respect. 
The other organs, needful though they be. 
Like common toilers, hold no high degree, 310 

The world of feeling only dares to show 
Its outcast face when poet's daring glow 
Transfused its painful dross with sugared rhyme 
And made man's very wretchedness sublime. 

18 



Hence Plato from his State the poets banned 315 

As men whom fancy's blaze for truth unmanned. 

But there he erred; for poet concentrates 

In pleasing stanzas all that life elates. 

There is a prejudice 'gainst men of rhyme. 

Another commentary on this time! 320 

But no! perhaps myself am in the wrong 

In blaming Plato for contempt of song, 

Or scoring present day for lack of taste 

And dubbing poetry a useless waste: 

Perhaps true progress loves the naked truth 325 

Without adorning veil of rhythm smooth; 

Perhaps the future will be still more wry 

When all the world is dull as lead and dry. 

Shop 

To dwell on carnage I do not intend, 

Xor with prophetic air predict its end. 330 

O'er ghastly scene I gladly draw the veil 
And with delight more pleasing topic hail. 
We often have conversed in pensive mood 
About the destiny of human brood. 

About the laws inexorably stern 335 

Wliich rule us from the cradle to the urn, 
About the meaning of the shows of life, 
That gaudy drapery of cosmic strife. 
We have agreed to shun poetic flights 

And pitch our camp on reason's icy heights, 340 

To form a true conception of the game 
Which men call life, and its undying flame ; 
To flee the net which vexing passion spreads 

19 



And brush aside too fine-spun logic's threads; 

In other words, to cast an icy stare 345 

Upon confounding maze of cosmic glare. 

The rush of time will soon our light make dim. 

Why waste on trifles priceless thought and vim? 

Mike. 
I love to hear you preach on cosmic themes. 
Although to me most systems are but dreams ; 350 

Yet, I confess, your fascinating way 
Reduces to a minute half a day ; 
Because you bar with truly matchless skill 
The use of words unknown to Jack and Jill. 
What is the substance of your latest view 355 

Upon the Goal of Life, the Good, the True? 
Avoid the premises; I know them all; 
For not in vain I followed once the call 
Of spirit spurring idle mind to pore 
Upon the depths of philosophic lore. 360 

Shop. 

All matter is but synonym for Force. 

Electrons, atoms are the fruitful source 

Of all that is or ever will exist; 

Although perhaps to us eternal mist 

Will shroud the secret of how force can act. 365 

I will not speculate upon this fact, 

Nor mask my ignorance with empty word 

And run the risk of being deemed absurd. 

Our Psychic Self displays two solar sides 

Of Thought and Feeling. Utter darkness hides 370 

20 



What to the conscious surface doth not rise. 
The Reason is the Rational, the Wise; 
That which distinguishes the man from brute 
And from the instincts which in him lie mute 
Until his mind's reflection lends them wings 375 

And lurking demons to his Imowledge brings. 
These instincts, feelings, passions in a word, — 
A thousand names do honor to this herd — , 
Make up what is Irrational in man. 

No mind can comprehend the total plan 380 

Which animates the quickly changing dust; 
But this summation seems to me most just: 
Our psychic substance, — call it what you will — , 
To us remains an Endless Striving still. 
Volition is our inner nature's core ; 385 

Our intellect, a bald lawn-tennis floor. 
Where action, roused by feeling, raps the ball 
Of things perceived beneath the azure pall. 
Our memory and reason teach us well 

That kindled passion lights the road to hell ; 390 

That disappointment follows ev'ry joy, 
And weary grows the child at last of toy; 
That pain and pleasure are but while they're felt, 
While they compress the heart with iron belt. 
A mummy in the mind is all they leave, 395 

Though sighs unnumbered to the sky we heave 
To feel again young love's transcendent pang 
Or rapture kindled by sublime harangue. 
Now, certain instincts rooted in man's heart 
Play awful havoc with his selfish art 400 

To harvest pleasure for himself alone 
And live apart, a self-contented drone, 

21 



When, from his inner soul's unconscious bight, 

The Instinct rising like a plumed knight 

With fire fills him and his reason flouts 405 

In spite of concert of the warning shouts 

Wliich parents, teachers, friends, profusely waste 

To shield the stripling from his over-haste. 

But instinct does not even deign to laugh, 

Since lungs protesting are to it but chaff 410 

By whirlwind blown along the dusty street. 

And selfishness is crushed beneath its feet. 

'Tis not philosophy that here I preach. 

A hundred thousand novels likewise teach 

In language much more eloquent than mine 415 

How Jack, in courting fair Evangeline, 

His stock of wisdom often rends to shreds. 

Divorces reason and contrition weds. 

The bliss is brief; enduring is the pang; 

But instinct heeds not egotist harangue. 420 

"\Miat lends to novels their eternal charm? 

They flatter instinct and their readers harm. 

The play of fancy weakens reason's sway; 

And maudlin sentiments sound thought decay. 

Though many novels common sense deride, 425 

They hold attention till the maid is bride. 

And till the partner of her future bliss 

Abandons freedom with the nuptial lass. 

Enchanting moonshine which romances fills ! 

O instinct thirsting for transcendent thrills! 430 

Love is a demon of almighty sway: 

Not satisfied with lordship over clay, 

The realm of letters also is his serf 

And acts the barker for love's giddy turf. 

22 



I do not rail at love — that were insane — ; 435 

I merely show the eminent domain 
That demon-instinct, next to will of life, 
Exerts in ev'ry field when sex is rife. 
The instinct to preserve the human race 
To human morals sets the measured pace. 440 

Though life is but an ever-bubbling spring, 
^Miose woes unnumbered herds of poets sing, 
Where pride of pomp and itching lust of sway 
To countless millions hell create each day; 
So overpow'ring is that instinct's blaze — , 445 

Which no philosophy's decrees obeys — , 
That man will rather suffer utmost wrong. 
Despoilment by the vicious and the strong, 
The coming slavery of all his kin 

Or quick destruction in a battle's din, 450 

Than rise a rebel 'gainst that mighty urge 
And from his mind love's luring phantoms purge. 
E'en midst a carnival of carnage dire. 
Love preys on all to feed its hungry fire. 
^ATiat is Irrational in man, is king. 455 

The Rational is but a hammered spring- 
That makes the watch go right when there's no dust 
To clog thought's wheels and give the rein to lust. 

Mike 
All this is very fine, indeed. I know 

That most philosophers have spoken so. 460 

The world is but a mighty wirligig. 
Some limp on crutches and some madly jig. 
But I have hope that you will set us free 

23 



From thoughtless gazing on its misery. 
What say you to the trend of things to day? 
What special instincts do the masses sway? 

Cord 
A most perplexing question now you ask. 
You are no doubt aware what vexing task 
It is to fathom one lone mortal's heart, 
To gauge its springs, lay bare dissembling art, 
To show what motives act upon the will 
And weigh his reason's undulating skill. 
The very heart of you and me is dark 
To our own judgment save for transient spark 
Of feeling lighting up the soul's dark deeps 
When quick, spasmotic wavelet o'er it creeps. 
How, then, can we degress on countless host 
Of beings whom we do not know ? At most 
We may indulge in speculative glance 
Upon the trend of things, as in a trance 
We sweep the eye across the ages past. 
And view but bubbling turmoil, first and last, 

Mike 
I know as well as you that none can tell 
Just what transpires in all hearts that swell 
With ev'ry rising hope at ev'ry thought 
That one by one before their mind is brought. 

Cord 
Friend Shop ! you feign an overmodest air. 
Perhaps you need some moments to prepare 

24 



A caustic answer to our kind request. 

You never shirked reply at my behest. 490 

Shop 
T will not disappoint your love to know 
What light I may upon this topic throw. 
But, bear in mind, the theme is most complex; 
And fear of error may my efforts vex. 

Cord 
Suppose you err. What does it signify 495 

When all are steeped in error, passion, lie? 
Consider too, mankind's ten thousand creeds 
And rampant discord 'twixt their words and deeds : 
The ebb and tide of ev'ry nation's aims 
And ev'ry person's never stifled claims 500 

To realize his morbid dreams on earth : 
The reservation of a special berth 
For his convenience in marble hall, 
Wliile lust of flesh still holds him in its thrall; 
And, after he has doffed the mask of life, 505 

A spot in realm which knows not carnal strife. 
You stated well: How little wisdom rules; 
A myth in fact; a phantom in the schools. 
So boldly don your speculative wing. 
I feel that stunning thought your tongue will bring. 510 

Shop 
Ah me ! I wish I were a seer or bard. 
The task would then be anything but hard; 
For poets, as you know, can rave at will : 

25 



Enraptured by their song, the crowd is still. 

A seer with freedom can promulge his dreams, 515 

Provided that the people's favor beams 

Upon the lusty phantoms of his brain, 

Though rank their purpose and their essence vain. 

But such is not the case with my poor self. 

My boiling fancy long rests on the shelf, 520 

Enshrined in verses which in youth I wrote; 

But now the love of truth has clutched my throat 

And weighs my w^ords upon the golden scale; 

And hence the breeze of thought must fill my sail 

With due regard to stubborn, icy fact 525 

To keep me distant from the cataract 

Of triviality which swallows all 

A^^io list to catch-words' overawing call. 

Cord 
Forget those halcyonic days of youth ! 

I, too, begin to court the sober truth. 530 

Think you I would a moment lose in talk 
About the problems which the wisest balk, 
If I had not a trace of that deep woe 
Which spurs the reason and rejects a "No?" 
I ask from you not wordy eloquence 535 

Which heaps up epithets as children pence ; 
But facts of life exposed to glaring light, 
So that we may deduct the truth aright. 

Shop 
So be it. Therefore, shunning more ado. 
The best I know I will expound to you. 540 

26 



There are three stages in mankind's career 

In search for happiness and lasting cheer. 

In Graeco-Roman times men sought for bliss 

This side the portals of the realm of Dis, 

Until disgust at pleasure's quick decay 545 

For metaphysic dogma paved the way. 

The Grecian spirit never will return 

And phoenix-like arise from Sappho's urn. 

The love of beauty, with instinctive sway, 

Embellished dream of mind and form of clay. 550 

The old Hellenic soul, confined to earth. 

Proclaimed as goal of life the present mirth, 

With gay festoons to wreathe the flowing bowl, 

With hymns to Bacchus drown the over-soul. 

To celebrate with orgies feast of state, 555 

In marble columns noble deeds relate. 

To dedicate to joy the passing days. 

And cherish art, though all the rest decays. 

The sober Eoman aped the Grecian style 

While marble gods adorned the Forum's aisle. 560 

When Eome had reached the limit of her sway. 

The inner ferment brought about decay. 

The Golden Rule announced from Palestine 

Began demolishing the heathen shrine; 

And thus commenced historic second stage, 565 

The scene of priestly and barbaric rage. 

For near two thousand years the Christian creed 

Gigantic efforts made to fill the need 

Of greedy mortals for consoling shore 

With realm ideal when we breathe no more. 570 

This stage is passing 'neath the hammer-blows 

27 



Which light scientific on all myths bestows. 

Yet thirst for happiness unslaked remains, — 

Because the will-to-live contemns all chains, — 

And must be coddled to conform to drift 575 

With which humanity's affairs make shift. 

The third stage centers on affairs of earth, 

On growing comfort and increasing mirth, 

On most emphatic paving of the way 

That coming races bask in brighter day; 580 

And hence the urgent haste to kill all joys 

And from man's tissues bar all base alloys 

That threaten haim to children yet unborn; 

In future races hope for golden morn, 

For lofty goal of ever-craving will, 585 

The final conquest of devouring ill! 

This is the real spirit of this age 

Which has outlived the first and second stage. 

Its symptoms brightly blaze in ev'ry sphere, 

In war for world-control on land and mere, 590 

In changes violent of habits old. 

In growing lordship over nature's mold. 

To sum these symptoms in a single word : 

To choke the present for the future herd. 

'Tis but another mask of nature's will 595 

To tempt her creatures Danaus' cask to fill. 

The frenzied bigot, whether Buddhist, Turk, 

Or Christian sectary, unconscious work 

Perform as slaves to nature's flaming word: 

That slowly shall improve the human herd 600 

Through paths diversified as spider's threads, 

With gust volcanic that destruction spreads, 

28 



With cataclysms wrenching human soul; 
And all for what ? That spirit may control ; 
The spirit restless of ne'er sleeping will 605 

To decorate itself with highest thrill 
By changing ways of life and trains of thought, 
Until supreme self-consciousness is wrought 
That ev'ry stage of life on earth is vain 
Except as moral to a poet's strain, 610 

The craze which sweeps at present o'er mankind 
Is not a scintillation of its mind, 
But voiceless, deep conviction that each clan 
Is doomed to punishment in nature's plan. 
Unless with almost superhuman might 615 

And prudence bordering clairvoyant sight. 
The private citizen is taught to kill 
Those selfish joys which to the state bode ill. 
Hence instinct agitates that reckless man 
Obeisance yield to nature's cruel plan 620 

Which makes his person mere connecting link. 
Whose appetites before the whole must shrink. 
The state exists for man ; yet man in turn 
Upon its altars must his incense burn. 

As weaklings can not form a potent state 625 

Which can defy begrudging neighbor's hate. 
The state insists that citizens be strong 
In mind and body to avenge each wrong 
Which may be done to honor of the state 
And that the public trust may not abate. 630 

Yet such full freedom should each man enjoy 
That dread of tyranny will not alloy 
The fleeting pleasures of his brief career 

29 



'Tween rocking cradle and sepulchral bier. 

When, too meticulous, the laAvs oppress, 635 

The love of guarding them grows less and less. 

The love of freedom is a deathless flame. 

Though blinded mobs its holy mandates shame 

And seek to squelch a portion of that right 

Which forms the basis of the nation's might, 640 

Such bursts of frantic rage will soon die out 

And flee before more sober thought in rout. 

If there's a purpose in this vale of tears 

The long experience of countless years 

Has not established us on stable ground, 645 

And greater hopelessness broods all around. 

Mike 
According to your doctrine, instinct sways 
The life of men in most recondite ways. 
I'm sure that of the millions voting "dry" 
But very few the real cause espy. 650 

A goodly number always welcomes change. 
E'en though new schemes their present plans derange. 
Ennui is potent factor with the mass 
Wliich ever thirsts for something new to pass. 
The dull monotony of daily life 655 

Romantic souls for escapades makes rife. 
E'en unromantic hearts with fire burn 
New tactics to adopt through voting-urn; 
From gray monotony of dull routine 

The ever-aching heart away to wean 660 

With prospect of a change that hurts them not 
And some apparent evil out doth blot. 
As long as man's on earth he will not rest 

30 



To force on others what he thinks is best. 

The others quickly will retort in kind 665 

As soon as they have got their second wind. 

This see-saw game of force opposing force 

To sense of inner void must trace its source ; 

For men devoted to improve their soul 

Through lofty reasoning and self-control 670 

By their example work more lasting good 

Than all the world-reformers' brotherhood. 

Cord 

Ennui ! this magic name a dragon bears 
Who shouts in triumph when a man despairs 
Whose fond illusions packed their tents and fled 675 

And left him wrestling with abstractions dead. 
As rainbow hues in jet of fountain play, 
Wlien intersected by the solar ray, 
So gorgeous clouds the rising wishes deck 
Wliile ignorance the dragon holds in check. 680 

With swelling knowledge grows the dragon's might 
And one by one illusions puts to flight, 
The mists of ignorance dissolves in air, 
And with its blazing eyes illumes its lair. 
His gaping maAv forever craves new shows 685 

And decks the stage for never-ending woes. 
According to the mental pedigree 
The soul, with changing speed, would fain be free 
From clinging garment of the dream of bliss, 
When seven heavens still lurk in a kiss, 690 

Till fancy's robe is all to tatters rent; 
"W^iat time the best of life is mostly spent. 
When inner evolution nears its aim, 

31 



Despondingly we Lear the sage proclaim : 
Behold ! there's nought which has a lasting worth 695 

Upon or this or any other earth ; 
For life has neither fundament nor goal 
And vainly seeks a happy state of soul; 
For all at birth are doomed to wear away, 
To suffer and to smart in robe of clay. 700 

This knowledge is as ancient as the hills ; 
Yet it improves us not, nor heals our ills; 
Because our soul is rooted in despair. 
That conscious vortex of ambitious air. 
The sage, enjoying comfortable home 705 

And learning's wealth within his thinking-dome. 
May feign an air of transcendental scorn 
Concerning habits of the meaner-born, 
And graze the dreaded dragon of ennui 

By meditating on the thing fer se, 710 

And from the world of sense withdraw his claws 
To contemplate life's never changing laws. 
But e'en this pleasure loses charm in time. 
And wearisome becomes e'en thought sublime. 
How happy is the crowd of common men, 715 

At nightfall laying down their ax or pen, 
Convinced of heresy that constant bliss 
Their proper mood should be in world like this! 
Accordingly, when close the workshop's gates 
And idle hour on their lordships waits, 720 

Behold the haste to fan the spark of joy 
With wine, tobacco, and what sense doth cloy ! 
And why? Because the dragon wants his share. 
And only mighty minds his gaze can dare. 
All human acts ere tinged with endless curse: 725 

32 



Fatality, banality, and worse; 

Perpetual return of stupid play 

To turn the waving grass to bundled hay. 

The greatest bari who ever wielded pen, 

The mighty Shakespeare, trots out hosts of men 730 

Who rend with thunder-words the patient air 

To symbolize the root of all, — despair. 

His jesting butchers and his tragic clowns, 

The mirth of Eosalind and Hamlet's frowns. 

The rage of Lear and lago's guile, 735 

The curse of Timon and Miranda's smile, — 

These matchless forms of superhuman art. 

Which paint the ebb and flow of mortal heart, — 

Portray the unextinguished blaze of will, 

The dragon feeding on himself when still. 740 

With glance intuitive the spring he found 

And read the riddle on its misty ground: 

The truceless war by restless dragon waged 

To be amused, deluded, and assuaged. 

E'en Christ — the Savior justly called by men — 745 

With scorn unspeakable despised that ken 

Which founds its hope on prey of moth and rust 

And idolizes passing forms of dust. 

His transcendental doctrine plainly calls 

To slay the dragon who the soul appalls, 750 

With such a peace no understanding knows. 

Before whose calm evaporate all shows, 

Wliich symbolizes as the final end 

That happiness where Nought and Being blend ; 

Which realizes God where life-throbs cease, 755 

And chains the dragon bind to hold the peace. 

33 



Shop 
The first stage bankrupt went in heathen Rome; 
The second stage conceived Saint Peter's Dome; 
The third stage of the world-iUusion now 
Upon the earth is causing mighty row. 760 

Men seek the happiness of future race 
Through numberless reforms which should efface 
All evil from the surface of the earth 
And make this den of woe a park of mirth. 
Some are dissatisfied with babes they have : 765 

Behold Eugenics promise healing salve. 
Some men mistrust the mettle of their brain : 
Here Female Suffrage sings the soothing strain. 
Some men like turkeys dread the landlord's ax : 
A mightj^ chorus shouts for Single Tax. 770 

Some men oppose the hoarding of great wealth : 
Behold them girding socialistic belt. 
Some others pity wretched mothers' toil : 
Here Birth-Control is hailed as magic oil. 
Another batch, and they are wondrous strong, 775 

Declare that sipping wine is moral wrong. 
I could extend this list to fill a book; 
But let us now upon our problem look: 
What means that craze which takes the world by storm 
To poke aclown its throat such stern reform, 780 

To regulate the life of tiny cell. 
And make of earth's domain a happy hell? 

Mike 
The "Martyrdom of Man" is still the cry 
In pathless jungle and where engines ply. 

34 



To save their country millions dj^'e the plain 
When hollow trumpet blows the martial strain. 
So, too, in peace profound a countless host 
Oft find security an idle boast 
AVhen passing whims of fellow burghers seize 
Upon their hoarded Avealth and means of ease. 
Although I am at heart an optimist, 
Yet I am not so blind as to insist 
That human progress never should cause grief 
To sluggards in arrears with their belief. 
My heart goes out to him who bares his breast 
To shrapnel, poison gases and the rest 
Of all the flesh-destroying schemes of man. 
When arms he dons at calling of his clan. 
Stern duty forces him to sleep in trench, 
Of fallen comrades to endure the stench. 
To starve and bleed and die for those at home 
And turn away his eyes from heaven's dome, 
To banish all that's noblest in his thought. 
To be again the savage beast which fought 
In glacial age with weapons made of stone 
To wrest from fellow cavemen rotting bone. 
A carnival of carnage rages now 
And feeble hands must guide the heavy plow. 
While nervy arms the cannon push o'er hill 
To shoot to fragments cottage, barn and mill. 
Some day the thunder of the guns will stop, 
And weary warriors their brows will mop 
With bloody kerchiefs, and their masters ask: 
"Wliat fruit is there of all that ghastly task?" 
I know not what the lords of men will say 

35 



When widows, cripples, orphans curse the day 

Which made e'en womankind don war-array, 

And bloom of manhood sentenced to decay, 

To death, to torture, to corruption vile. 

To all that hell upon mankind could pile, 820 

And sowed the seed of hate in ev'ry soul, 

And made man think that devils had control. 

Cord 

A nihilistic longing of the soul, 
That would be free on earth from pain and dole, 
Has grown a passion with a host of men 825 

And tinged with cowardice their shrunken ken. 
If they would stoop to scan historic page. 
The world's convulsions, and the tiger rage 
Which churned in vortex ev'ry human tribe 
And crowned pacific hopes with leering gibe, 830 

They would recoil in horror from the sight 
And learn how from destruction's awful blight 
A flimsy curtain separates their all. 
Each day they'd dread to hear the tocsin call 
The citizens to arm and to defend 835 

Their wealth and freedom to the bitter end. 
No patriotic song will shield our shore; 
Not hymns to saints will stay a sea of gore. 
When nations mobilize for lust of prey, 
Not scraps of paper will blockade their way. 840 

'Tis false philosophy to hope for luck 
That dragon will not sparrow's feathers pluck. 
The weak must perish. God has willed it so. 
If right or wrong, the fact is true ; we know. 

36 



Shop 
Consider well the basic law of life, 845 

That Force is Umpire in the cosmic strife ; 
That states were formed to raise to higher plane 
The jungle-savage, and to give domain 
To Right and Freedom — Justice, in a word, — 
To pledge each member of the human herd 850 

To fight, to perish, if the case demand, 
Enforcing rules made by the fatherland. 
Yet Right is negative in its content: 
The liberty to do without dissent 

What can not work our fellow beings harm; 855 

And laws of state extend their mighty arm 
To squelch the malefactor small or great, 
And guard ideal peace in civil state. 
Without the commonwealth's imposing hosts, 
Right, Liberty, and Justice are but ghosts 860 

That vainly for their incarnation look. 
Or shades defying iron grappling-hook. 
If justice in the world of men held sway. 
It were sufficient to have baked the clay. 

And built the hut, and squat about the hearth. 865 

This were our right, as 'tis construed on earth. 
Without the laws of state our so-called right 
Would vanish with a foe's exulting might. 
In order to extent the rule of right 

And make mankind obey a common light, 870 

A central power must the scepter hold, 
One parliament the rule of right imfold; 
For masters two one house can not contain. 
And discord quickly rends the roof in twain. 

37 



But let star-gazers build Utopian dreams! 
While life-evoking sun upon us beams, 
And races many-hued strive to excel 
And others to obedience compel, 
The dream of universal peace is vain; 

And thus with commonsense we must again 880 

Imj)ress upon our minds that primal fact, 
And guide our course with wisdom and with tact. 
We've built a house magnificentlj^ great, 
A monumental and ideal state. 

Shall we supinely view a rising storm 885 

And wriggle like defenseless, trodden worm? 
Or shall we shine like Pallas clad in mail. 
Invulnerable to the hostile hail? 
Awake, Columbia ! from hypnotic thrall, 
For portents ominous to action call. 890 

Beyond thy eastern shore the Avorld's aflame; 
And to the west an empire starts the game 
Of flinging its proud banner o'er the sea 
Dividing Mongol serf from Yankee free. 
As faithful collie guards the grazing flocks; 895 

As pilot guides the vessel past the rocks 
That lurk beneath the surface of the bay 
With demon patience for their easy prey; 
As wise enshrine their gold in vaults of steel ; 
As trusty guardsmen make the prowler feel 900 

That 'tis not safe for him to try the door. 
Or through a sky-light drop on banking-floor: 
So ought we guard the world's most precious spot 
From foes who threaten and from thoughts that rot. 
Unmindful of the danger close at hand, 905 

38 



Its head the ostrich buries in the sand ; 

And thus imagines to ekide the dart 

By savage brandished with consummate art. 

Shall we like stupid bird expose our manse 

To perforation by the foeman's lance? 910 

Or weld an armor that will cause respect 

And make a foe both tremble and reflect 

Before he challenges Old Glory's hosts 

To trace in Yankee blood his war-god's boasts? 

Mike 
Without the commonwealth's protecting arm 915 

The life of men were one intense alarm; 
All culture would be nipped like leaves by frost, 
And painful toil of years ten thousand lost. 

Cord 
All philosophic minds therein agree, 

That "Country First" must still the watchword be; 920 

And greatest is the might of modern state, 
In which the citizens with skill debate 
The problems rising fresh with ev'ry sun, 
Which call by turns for statesman's pen or gun. 

Mike 
A chain of steel binds man to native soil. 925 

No matter what our common land embroil. 
In our opinion it is always right. 
And for its conservation we must fight, 
Regardless of sophisticated view 

Concerning what is right and what is true. 930 

39 



This patriotic instinct must prevail; 

Else in distress our might will droop and fail. 

Shop 
E'en nations singly feel themselves too weak 
In world-affairs deciding word to speak; 
Hence leagues are formed to make their will the law, 935 

And with united strength inspire awe. 
This process is the same with mighty lands 
As with the primal, savage, roving bands: 
A ceaseless struggle to obtain control. 

And make of hostile parts organic whole. 950 

It may be possible in future time 
That one republic cover ev'ry clime. 
What then may happen, it were hard to guess; 
But men will still be human none the less. 
I called the passion for reform a craze; 945 

Hence it behooves me to explain the maze 
Of fact and thought which justifies that word. 
He, whom the stern reality has stirred 
To fearless contemplation of the soul 

And potent instincts which our acts control, 950 

Will soon discover as the inmost core 
Of all that breathes upon this mundane floor 
A restless striving after happiness 
And struggle 'gainst the hydra of distress. 
More simply still, our nature is a Will, 955 

And nothing earthly can its longing still. 
The will forever satisfaction craves; 
And human functions are its bonded slaves. 
Because a ceaseless Willing is the Will, 

40 



No satisfaction can its coffers fill. 960 

As happiness means "Willing Satisfied," 

It is as plain as day our mind has lied 

^Vhen it to fond illusion paved the way 

That human race will ever see the day 

When happiness is reached, the final goal, 965 

And wisdom holds the reins of world-control. 

The will in man is fundamental force ; 

The mind mere pilot who directs the course; 

Hence need of laws to hold the will in check. 

Or ancient savageness the home would fleck. 970 

Since social instinct drove together men. 

They have exhausted all their wit and ken 

To formulate the most progressive laws 

And extirpate the most persisting flaws. 

Such as his pristine longing to be free 975 

From irksome fetters of society. 

Just think of Saturn's feast in ancient Kome, 

\^nien Bacchic revelry transformed the home. 

The stern old Romans even felt the need 

To once a year dispense with sober screed. 980 

Yet we surpass the Romans even here, 

Since many states have banished Bacchic cheer, 

And perfect soberness the whole year reigns. 

And laughter riotous our saints disdains. 

Cord 

O yes, the will in man sports varied freaks 985 

Of which each drama eloquently speaks ; 
But also real life shows many ways 

41 



The hermit and the schemer spend their days. 

Each seeks to happiness some special road. 

To one ideal point all dreams which goad. 990 

In deep seclusion, melancholy thought, 

The hermit seeks for happiness not bought 

By waste of passion in the fretful game, 

Where wealth and honor oft are marred by shame. 

Another's pillow grows a bed of thorns, 995 

Unless his presence herald noisy horns, 

And awe-struck rabble deftly bend the knee 

To hail the prototype of vanity. 

Shop 
You know man's story just as well as I : 

The tragedy of government, the cry 1000 

"Which issues from a discontented crowd 
In despot kingdom or republic proud, 
No matter whether granaries are filled 
Or blood of millions on the field is spilled. 
WHiat is it but the aching of the will 1005 

For change of scene its baseless maw to fill ? 
Behold the people of the fairest land. 
With all the charms of peace at their command, 
Forever restless in their present state, 

Forever agitating to elate 1010 

Their inner self up to so high a key 
That they xieglect the laws of equity. 
For instance, very many able men. 
Swayed by the force of philosophic ken. 

Have sworn hostility to juice of grape; 1015 

Because its odor makes of man an ape 

42 



Forgetting all about the "how" and "why" 

And deaf to worried mind's discordant cry 

For insight into meaning of the play, 

Life's manifold and universal fray, 1020 

AAliat is the meaning of Bacchantic glee, 

Of ecstasy of soul that w^ould be free 

For fleeting moments from the chains of thought, 

As birds from net in which by fowler caught? 

The Preacher says : "With knowledge sorrow grows." 1025 

Now, Bacchus freedom on the soul bestows 

By silencing the leaden voice of Care 

Wlien joyous notes his brazen cymbals blare. 

When his sweet nectar sets the cheeks ablaze, 

It drowns in Lethe vexing puzzles' haze 1030 

And trims the soul to swift, poetic flight 

Away from dull routine of day and night. 

A momentary freedom of the soul 

From choking dust's o'ermastering control; 

A slackening of chain which binds the mind 1035 

Fresh victims for the Moloch Will to find; 

A respite from the drudging workhouse-toils. 

Where fancy perishes and envy boils: 

Such is the gift which Bacchus takes away 

When sordid frenzy blocks his cheering sway. 1040 

The Puritanic mind regards as sin 

The slightest pleasure which on earth we win. 

They propagate the creed that earth's a hell. 

In which he's doubly damned who lives too well. 

Uncontradicted is this gloomy fact, 1045 

The solid bottom to each pious tract 

Asserting hell wdll lose its winning score 



When for a moment man forgets life's sore. 
The founders of our state did well decree 
That all religion should be wholly free. 1050 

Yet, at the present day I view with dread 
Fanatic frenzy shame our honored dead. 
If juice of grape my famished soul instil 
With word-defying, superhuman thrill, 

In which I worship dust's transcendent glow 1055 

As life's most precious gem, and great thoughts flow 
In torrents from the liberated mind 
To cheer my heart and elevate mankind: — 
Must I submit to Puritanic zeal 

That would degrade this freemen's commonweal 1060 

To pesthouse smoking out all higher bliss 
Than hugging dollars and the Judas kiss? 
Because unskillful men abused his gift. 
They turned the jolly god of wine adrift. 
To punish sober man to help a sot 1065 

Is gayest bud of sentimental rot. 
Why not in prison put the human race, 
Because some fighting men may scratch their face? 
Why not the churches level to the ground, 
Because some wolves in sable cloth are found? 1070 

Why not like Puritans the plain truth tell 
That man on earth must be prepared for hell? 
Though Bacchus exiled be to foreign shore. 
And happy roisterers exult no more; 

Yet he took with him to another stage 1075 

The godlike frenzy, and we keep the rage : 
The thirst the desert-void of heart to fill. 
With icy reason face despondent thrill 

44 



In vain attempt to rouse a joy supreme 

Without aromas that from wine-cups stream; 1080 

To gaze with leaden eye on cheerless day, 
The sullen victim of the soul's decay. 
The festive garland turns to withered grass 
When underneath repining shadows pass. 

When joy triumphant dies in sober brains 1085 

And leads a flick'ring life in poet's strains, 
Mankind has lost the better part of life 
And for a lower plane is getting rife. 
Where all the programme is prescribed for you. 
Your food, your drink, your clothes, your fancy, too, 1090 
In perfect state, you'll be a perfect cog, 
And freedom's longing squelched in stagnant bog. 
A just appreciation is the thing 
To block all chaos and contentment bring. 
Was not the Author of the Golden Eule 1095 

By rabble hooted as ambitious fool ? 
Go search the volumes of historic lore, 
Wliose ev'ry line flares red with human gore ; 
Or scan the extras of the daily press 

And learn to know man's utter savageness. 1100 

We fain would close our eyes to naked truth, 
And lay the blame on this or that, forsooth ; 
But deeper insight soon the fact reveals 
That from the dawn of time 'tis Fate that deals 
The bloody cards denoting legions slain 1105 

For purpose ultimate we seek in vain. 
Again, our ignorance a giant looms 
When nations perish 'neath the mighty brooms 
Which Fate employs to make a pathway clear 

46 



At price of all which men do hold most dear. 1110 

O ask not Why ? For Fate is mute as death ; 
Our question, folly and abuse of breath. 
'Tis human reason's unrelenting task 
To evermore the self -same questions ask; 

And 'tis the nature of the human will 1115 

With fresh desires panting heart to fill. 
The endless chains of life all things embrace, 
And all are scourged along in madding race. 
Suppose that cranks prevailed to pass a law 
Forbidding men and maids to coo or caw 1120 

Before the parson had pronounced them One: 
What cry of horror Avould through nation run ? 
This is no jest. 'Tis law in many lands, 
'Neath Moslem Crescent and on Christian strands. 
Thus habit makes an abject slave of man 1125 

Allien progress is tabooed in sluggish clan. 
The leading thought that w^ll not quit my mind. 
Is that some common aims our natures bind. 
Mankind may be compared to endless chain 
Which sex and hunger on this earth maintain. 1130 

The endless wants of man to states give rise; 
And countless states fresh worlds of laws devise 
To ease the burden of increasing care 
That gnaAvs on pauper and on millionaire, 
Wlien man's ne'er glutted wishes ask for more 1135 

Than decent comfort from the common store. 
This to Utopias the death-knell sounds; 
For human will is thing which knows no bounds. 
Though joy in cup by law you may restrain 
Till obsolescence makes such action vain : 1140 

46 



Have you reflected what will take its place? 

What novel vices will mankind disgrace? 

It is no easy task to draw^ the line 

AMiere virtue and where vices intertwine. 

A foreign thinker showed us how this is 1145 

The case with lavishness and avarice. 

The gist of his remarks from sober prose 

To English meters here I will transpose. 

"The spendthrift is a fool who squanders all 

For brief enjoyment of a bacchanal. 1150 

The coming future weighs not on his mind 

That values but delights of carnal kind. 

Steep is the price the spendthrift has to pay 

For hollow, fleeting pleasures of a clay, 

For fawning parasites' insulting smile, 1155 

For entertainment of a rabble vile; 

Since pinching want and sorrow are the price 

The spendthrift payeth for his wretched vice. 

His presence should be shunned like plague or dope ; 

For some day he will act the misanthrope 1160 

Like Timon, and his friends the sorry role 

Delightfully portrayed in Shakespeare's scroll. 

Who wastes his fortune as a thing of air, 

Will manage not his fellows' pelf with care. 

The path from waste to poverty is short; 1165 

And spendthrifts oft at last to crimes resort. 

But avarice has plenty in its wake; 

And who at plenty e'er his head did shake? 

The avaricious has this maxim right: 

That vain and negative is all delight; 1170 

That a chimera is all happiness, 

And positive and real all distress. 

47 



In order to escape from real ills, 
He abdicates the thought of pleasure's thrills. 
He knows the possibilities of woe, 1175 

What dangers lurk whatever paths we go; 
Surrounds himself as with a triple wall 
To hold in banishment misfortune's call. 
For who can tell when care becomes too great? 
^Vho can confine malignity of fate? 1180 

E'en though his treasures ne'er the miser use. 
His zeal excessive no one doth abuse. 
Upon his death his heirs will feel a pride 
The hoarded gold 'mong traders to divide; 
For ducats are but counters, nothing more; 1185 

And bread will circulate, though money soar. 
A spendthrift's friendship is of no account. 
A miser's friendship often doth amount 
To something, when a swift misfortune knocks 
And e'en his calculating heart unlocks. 1190 

O avarice ! quintessence of all vice ! 
If carnal pleasure lead man in a trice 
Away from path he ought to follow straight, 
It is the animal in him has weight 

To make him yield to momentary charm, 1195 

Unmindful of the coming, certain harm. 
But when the vices he would never quit. 
While for delight of senses he was fit. 
Begin to leave him when the muscles groan, 
The mental greed survives the pleasures flown. 1200 

The abstract representative of wealth. 
Of all the instruments of joy and health, 
Becomes the withered trunk to which his lust 
Clings like the shadow to the fleeting dust; 

48 



And gold to him an abstract symbol grew 1205 

Of carnal pleasures which in youth he knew. 

Hence, avarice the aged doth ensnare, 

And with extravagance the striplings fare." 

Apply this moral to the use of wine, — 

That moderation is the path divine — , 1210 

And all is said that Christ Himself would say, 

Were He to reappear this present day. 

Mike 
My gloom grows deeper since I heard your talk. 
Although I am disposed to mark with chalk 
Of blazing red this pleasant afternoon, 1215 

A tropic flower on a barren dune, 
Yet there's no consolation I can find 
In what you have unrolled before my mind. 
My humble fortune's gone. I am too old 
For competition with the young and bold. 1220 

T am not gifted with poetic spark 
To emulate in verse the morning lark; 
Nor can I boast the patience of a saint 
On mental mirror all the world to paint, 

And glut my heart with philosophic gaze 1225 

On universal and perplexing maze. 

Shop 

You are quite right. Consoling thought there's none, 
Except our lucubrations serve as one. 
The swift-succeeding races of mankind 

Like shadows on the wall or moaning wind 1230 

No impress leave on life's eternal tide, 

49 



A^liose giant waves soon all our glories hide. 

Although our life be cradled in despair, 

And Wisdom's form a ragged garment wear, 

Though happiness upon deception rests 1235 

And fades when insight plies its acid tests : 

Yet, notwithstanding, truth should be our goal, 

To render less opaque the play of soul, 

Though quickly fall illusions right and left, 

And blissful day-dreams are of joy bereft. 1240 

Through growing loneliness of desert waste 

To rend the Isis-veil to shreds we haste. 

With confidence one may chimeras slay. 

If Imowledge of one's worth all fear allay. 

Before this confidence all trouble fades 1245 

As falls the grass before Toledo blades. 

But when illusions fly, and pangs remain 

To sear the heart with their constricting chain, 

And worthless Nothing stares behind the veil ; — 

Beware the Gorgon starting from her jail! 1250 

Cord 

And yet the warfare 'gainst the god of wine 
In one respect approaches the divine. 
'Tis known that grape produces transient bliss, 
A joy as fleeting as a maiden's kiss. 

Displeasure follows when the bliss is o'er 1255 

Of grape or kiss: 'gainst wine why such a roar? 
So is it with each single aim in life. 
When after almost superhuman strife 
We have obtained the tempting, dazzling bait, 
We are at once reduced to ancient strait 1260 

Of setting up new goal for itching will, 

50 



Or letting vapid gloom our spirit fill. 

It seems the aim of life to spread a snare 

To tempt its creatures ev'ry step to dare 

To sound the depths and shallows of the will 1265 

Until the pendulum at last is still; 

And hence the notice to the heathen god 

To take his luggage from our saintly sod. 

T will not prophesy his coming wrath, 

For this is knowledge that no mortal hath. 1270 

Meanwhile, we'll rave and dream a fitful day 

Until our atoms strike and go their way. 

Shop. 

The plain philistine hearkens to the voice 
Proclaiming it his duty to rejoice 

[n life as some unqualified affair 1275 

And not a goblin of the light and air; 
Hence his persistent chase to trap the spot 
A^'liich fancy's rainbows with allurements dot. 
The college graduate philistine looks 

On certain methods as unfailing hooks 1280 

To spear elusive truth's elastic shape 
And with scholastic frills her garment drape. 
But neither happiness nor truth can e'er 
Be rendered captive in the ''when" and ''where." 
Their shadow-pictures only haunt us here 1285 

Our course consistent to their star to steer. 
Life is a tongue which doth a lesson give. 
Could this be otherwise, we would not live. 
The school of life no maxims can supplant 
Which others copied from the world-soul's rant. 1290 

51 



As the Apostles Pentecostal Day 

In his own tongue appeared to each to pray, 

So life a diverse language speaks to each, 

And just that which he needs to him doth teach. 

Cord 
You have portrayed in simple style the fate 1295 

Inseparable from all conscious state: 
That metaphysic base of life is will; 
And hence no finite scheme its thirst can still. 
This tale can be re-echoed thousandfold. 

But the entire truth can not be told. 1300 

The day will come when English song no more 
Will glad the ear along Pacific shore; 
When ceaseless circuit of the restless race 
Our tongue will mangle and our name efface ; 
When constant mingling of the wand'ring tribes 1305 

Our present idols makes the theme of gibes. 
From dawn of time man westward turned his way. 
Lured by hypnotic spell of setting ray. 
Fate's book is writ in sympathetic ink. 

The pi*esent only forces us to think. 1310 

The present day is fresh as morning dew. 
The past and future vanish from our view. 
Vast floes of ice unnumbered years ago 
Once pressed the fields where tropic breezes blow. 
In course of time the sun will lose its force, 1315 

And tropic jungles yield to polar gorse. 
The ever changing flux of suns and tides 
Makes rest a phantom and ambition chides. 
As -Aristophanes with blasting scorn 

52 



Pillories demagogues who toot their horn, 1320 

Pokes fun at peasant of a reason dense, 
And rifts the cloud which masks the seer's pretense: 
So nature scatters what to sense appears 
Like smoke which from a hidden fire rears. 
For, all that is at last appears a fraud, 1325 

And nature only the immortal bawd 
Who spreads her tempting and licentious snares 
To catch the stripling gulls most unawares. 
Most men like nags are wedded to their bit; 
Hence their hostility to drastic wit 1330 

That scorns the harness of despondent heart. 
And pyrotechnics makes of stinging smart. 
Methinks that flagon did but little wrong 
Compared with world-reformers' siren song. 
When godlike frenzy of the poet, too, 1335 

Is doomed the greyish husks of truth to woo. 
rhe earnest bigot, like short-winded horse. 
Drops halfway in the race and blocks the course, 
rhe bigot and the grafter, hand in hand, 
rhus far have blasted ev'ry happy land. 1340 

WTiile serves his hobby-horse for battle-cry, 
rhe plainest tnith the zealot will deny, 
rhe ever-bubbling fount of human will, — 
LTnfathomable source of good and ill, — 

Will conjure up ten thousand phantoms more 1345 

Fo vex all patriots from shore to shore 
With laws prohibitive to curb their will 
rill indignation with an earthquake thrill 
Protests against the mummeries of those 
^Vlio on a mouldy wine-cask feast their nose. 1350 

53 



THE DISILLUSIONED GENIUS 



OR 



ffill^ (UruhU of inn (|m}otf . 



PREFACE 

Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra, born October 9, 
1547, at Alcala' de Henares, led a changeful and at 
times adventurous life, and died at Madrid April 23, 
1616, the day of death of William Shakespeare. He 
commenced writing verses at an early age. His pas- 
toral "Filena" attracted the attention of Cardinal 
Acquaviva, whom he accompanied to Italy as page. 
He served in the war against the Turks and lost the 
use of his left hand in the naval battle of Lepanto, 
October 8, 1571. In 1575, while returning to Spain, 
he was captured by the corsair Arnaut Mami and 
sold in Algiers as a slave. In 1580 he was ransomed 
by his friends and relatives, and, rejoining his old 
regiment, he fought in the naval battle and subse- 
quent storming of Terceira. In 1583, he retired from 
military service, and in 1584 he published his pas- 
toral "Galatea", and subsequently thirty dramas, 
among which the tragedy '^Numancia" ranks first. 
This play treats of the heroic defense of the ancient 
Spanish city against the Romans under Scipio. From 
1588 to 1599 he lived retired at Seville, where he 



held a small office. He spent some time in ]Drison 
for alleged irregularities in his accounts. It was 
during his incarceration that he is supposed to have 
conceived the plan of his immortal masterpiece "Don 
Quijote," the first part of which was published at 
Madrid in 1605. 

Heinrich Heine, in the Second Book of his cri- 
tique "The Romantic School," says: "There is much 

talk among us about this 'humorous irony' But 

it is merely a sign of our political oppression (Un- 
freiheit) ; and, just as Cervantes at the time of the 
Inquisition had to have recourse to a humorous irony 
in order to indicate his thoughts without giving the 
Familiars of the Holy Office a tangible hold, so also 
Goethe was in the habit of expressing in the tone of 
a humorous irony that which, as a statesman and 
courtier, he dared not say openlj^ Goethe has never 
suppressed the truth; but he has clothed it in humor 
and irony wherever he dared not show it naked. 
Writers who suffer under censorship and intellectual 
restraints of all sorts and yet cannot suppress the 
opinions dear to their hearts, are compelled to have 
recourse particularly to the ironical and humorous 

foiTQ These two men, the author of 'Hamlet' 

and the author of 'Don Quijote,' are the greatest 

poets whom modern times have produced 'Don 

Quijote,' together with 'Hamlet' and 'Faust', are 

perhaps the favorite reading of the Germans 

Those who have arrived at the knowledge that all is 
vain, that all human efforts are fruitless, give the 
preference to Cervantes' novel. They see in it a per- 



siflage of all enthusiasm, and all our contemporary 
knights who fight and suffer for an idea appear to 
them as so many Don Quijotes. Did Cervantes sus- 
pect what application a later period would make of 
his works? Did he really wish to parody idealistic 
enthusiasm in the shape of his lank and tall knight, 
and the matter-of-fact understanding in the shape 
of his plump 3^eoman? .... Or did the deep-thinking 
Spaniard desire to scoff still more profoundly at 
human nature? Did he represent allegorically our 
intellect in the shape of Don Quijote and our body 
in the shape of Sancho Panza? " 



THE DISILLUSIONED GENIUS 



OR 



®l|^ (HmhU 0f ion (^m\tiU. 



A Ballad. 

His cheek on his right hand resting, 

At a table in prison-cell, 
Cervantes was deep in plodding 

To escape from the gloomy spell, 

From desolate dungeon-twilight 

And the dearth of inspiring talk, 

From moan of the tortured culprits 
And the jailer's untiring walk. 

He gazed on his left arm's remnant, 
On the mark of Lepanto's fight. 

Where Turk and his battered frigates 
Courted safety in rapid flight. 

He thought of his Afric prison, 

And the priceless, long years bewailed 

Of thankless and servile toiling 

When the corsair his galley scaled. 
59 



He sighed for his thoughtless country 
That ignored his surpassing worth 

As brave and resourceful soldier 
As did ever adorn the earth. 

He longed for the sea and tempest, 

For the freedom from durance vile, 

For summons to gird his sabre 

And on Mussulman vent his bile. 

But vain is attempt at freedom 

While the irons his ankle maim; 

And idle his dreamy ravings 
Of heroic, but futile aim. 

His heart had been stung quite early 
By the irony stern of life: — 

That genius is linked with sorrow 
In the vulgar and jealous strife 

For gold and for empty honor, 

For the brazen applause of knaves, 

For courtesan's smile illusive 

And the compliments cheap of slaves ;- 

By irony universal 

Of that comical, tragic game. 
The playground of brutish instincts 

And of phantom delights of fame, 
60 



Of lofty pretense of honor, 

And of personal, secret spring 

Which sets up a trap for peoples 

For a shadow their necks to wring; — 

By Sisyphus plight of genius 

And its barren and hopeless task 

To broaden the soul of rabble 

Who adoi'e a transparent mask, 

Idolater dull of custom, 

With a fetich their bloody god. 
The Moloch at ancient Carthage, 

With his lungs into furnace wrought, 

Or Allah in Algiers modern. 

With his battle-cry "Death to all 

Who Koran do not acknowledge 

And Mohammed usurper call"; — 

By gravity ultra-comic 

Of the rattlehead's empty face ; — 
By tragic array of muskets 

And the drill for a useless race 

To gain what alone pure reason 

With mankind can e'er bring about, 

A peaceful Olympic contest, 

Whei^e the victor is hailed with shout 
61 



Of triumph and joy exulting 
By the nations of all the earth, 

And laurel and palm are trophies 

For the kings of the arts of mirth. 

Cervantes acknowledged meekly 
To himself in his inner soul: 

"What shadows have I been chasing 
With a prison my final goal? 

One arm I have lost in scaling 

The steep prow of a Turkish ship, 

And nearly six years I dreaded 

The long reach of a Moorish whip. 

And now I adorn a dungeon 

On some utterly stupid charge, 

Wliile cowards and knaves and braggards 
Are cavorting about at large. 

O wonderful end of glory 

And of chivalry and romance! 

The rushlights of youthful fancy 
Surely led me a merry dance. 

Perhaps my whole life was error, 
A mad race for phantastic goal, 

A courtship of endless hardships 
For the dregs of a bitter bowl. 
62 



In various plays and novels 

I attempted Parnassus' heights; 

But meager reward I gathered 

From my many and soaring flights. 

The youth of my native country 
Are devouring absurd romance, 

The fables of bold knight-errant 

Who a steed can upraise with lance ; 

And fiction of bloodless ladies 
Who impossible task intrust 

Upon their knight-errant lovers, 

And the commonsense-man disgust. 

To reason against the fashion, 

Which exalts these phantastic tales 

With arguments philosophic 

And a scorn which the fools impales. 

Would surely fall flat like sermon 

That is preached to the deaf and dumb ; 

But here I recall a maxim, — 

And it comes like a saving crumb, — 

That fiend must be fought with fire, 
His own element be his death; 

And hence I will write a story 

That will take away reader's breath. 
63 



Knight-errant I'll clothe with halo 

That will sweep them from off their feet 

And wrench a convulsive laughter 

From the judge on his solemn seat. 

Yes, laugh! and the world laughs with you; 

For a jest is a priceless gift 
Which flares like a flash of lightning 

And in night's blackest clouds makes rift. 

My book will become the lightning 
That will show till the end of time 

The rifts in the hero's armor 

And the fate of all aim sublime. 

So down with all thought despondent ! 

As a soldier I will not yield. 
Though sabre be notched and rusty, 

Let my fancy and art be shield 

To serve as a mighty breastwork 

'Gainst the shadow of coming want ; 

My jestings shall be the gunners 
To dispel the phantasma gaunt 

Which harrass the self- forgetting 
In Castile and in heathen land, 

And those who have squandered treasure 

Of their brain and their heart and hand 
64 



For those who will not acknowledge 
An unselfish and noble aim, 

Whose eyes ne'er behold the heavens 

And whose pinions of thought are lame. 

The hero may rot in prison, 

While the jester grows fat at court. 
'Tis thus in the Afric jungle 

And where bulls in the circus snort. 

Away with profound reflection 

And with thought of a higher life ! 

Away with all introspection 

In the maddening whirl of strife! 

Just tickle the rib of dullard 

With a jest of a low degree. 
And O ! how the pesos rattle 

And the spectres of hunger flee." 

His wisdom begot cool courage 

And dispelled his dejected state 

And idle complaint of fortune 
And the pitiless shears of fate. 

He built in his mind the framework 
Of a tale of enchanting mirth, 

Narrating the great adventures 
On this dull and prosaic earth 
65 



Of hero with mind diverted 

From the lusts of the common herd 

And seeking a realm ideal 

With the might of his deed and word. 

The hero's name, Don Quijote 

De La Mancha is known to all. 

His yeoman was Sancho Panza 

Who ne'er shirked at his master's call. 

Three centuries "Don Quijote" 

Has delighted the reading world. 

His droll and his tragic mishaps 

Into laughter both worlds have hurled. 

About this knight-errant peerless 

Are a score of romances wove 
Whic^ gloss with poetic beauty 

The adventures in war and love 

Of maidens and youths, the victims 

Of the ever-refulgent beams 
Which dart from the eyes in springtime, 

When the incense from meadow streams. 

But theirs is a trance too common 

To deserve an especial note, 
Except in the eye of cynic 

Who on all with a sneer will dote. 
66 



The project, which promised freedom 
To Cervantes and lasting fame, 

Made wings of his dungeon-fetters; 
Of the twilight, a sunrise flame. 

Unhampered by Inquisition, 

Of a madman he could make sport, 

Who squandered in rainbow-chasing 
The last brick of his ancient fort. 

Exulting in joy of triumph 

In the vision which brought relief, 
Cervantes thus pondered sagely 

On his victory over grief : 

"I'll picture all human nature 

In a tale which pretends to mock 

The dupes of knight-errant fables 
And of cold disillusion's shock. 

The world is a boundless prison, 

And the chains which the many clutch 

Are made of a finer metal 

Then the steel which my ankles touch. 

They'll laugh when they read the antics 
Of La Manchr-'s ambitious knight. 

The windmill-assailing hero, 

And of Panza, the humble wight. 
67 



They'll laugh and they'll shriek for ages; 

For their shadow it is they see 
Emblazed in immortal pages, 

And the bankrupt ghosts, Truth and Glee. 

And double will be my triumph, 
Wlien I sketch in a comic vein 

The whim of my youthful frenzy 
To be leader of martial train. 

To reap the reward of glory, 

To be lord of a castle fair, — 
And end in a lonely dungeon, 

A lost sigh in the world-despair. 

The night from my cell will vanish 
As my dream into words I mold 

And hear the undying laughter 
Of the universe greedy, cold 

At plight of the honest hero 

And his simple and guileless heart, 

^¥ho trusted in current phrases 

And mistook the light veil of art 

For solemnly real substance, 

And on images glued his eye. 
And thus with my early errors 

Everlasting renown I'll buy. 
68 



Well may I exult in triumph, 

While on earth my old lungs hold out, 
That poverty's dire specter 

With my wit I have put to rout. 

I feel that a thinking reader 

Will excuse the transparent gauze 

Of flimsy and silly fiction 

And perceive the eternal laws 

Which rear an illusive cloudland 
In the cavern of plodding brain, 

And force an unwilling dreamer 
To his Pegasus throw the rein. 

To laugh at our sad contortions 

And with grimace obscure the smart, 

To scan in a glass life's folly. 
Are eternal domain of art. 

So let the world laugh and titter 
And attempt to be wise and gay 

And worship fresh tinsel's glitter 

Till the dawn of the Judgment Day!" 

The End. 



69 



3477-17^ 
Lot 53 



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